Meeting Mr Wright
by foggybythebay
Summary: The bitter taste of a broken engagement and a hatefully ingested Cafè Americano changes the course of Hermione's life when a new love interest suggests she take a sip of a more ordinary brew. EWE; pairing: Hermione Granger/OC, failed pairing: dramione, ronmione
1. December: A Winter's Tale

**A Winter's Tale**  
_December_

* * *

Andrew Wright, owner of W. Digital Communications, glanced impatiently at his Movado watch and tapped his well-loved Lobb Jermyn IIs against the coffee shop's terra cotta floor. The barrista behind the counter had better not mix up the order like she did yesterday, he thought peevishly. The too-sweet, too-spicy latte concoction gave him an instant headache the moment it hit his lips. He'd forced himself to swallow the hateful brew since he'd slept poorly the night before and rued the idea of being uncaffeinated during his toughest talk yet with one of the wealthiest magnates this side of the Thames.

Despite the dubious start to his day, by 3 p.m., Andrew, found himself on the receiving end of a hearty handshake with Draco Malfoy, the owner of Malfoy Enterprises himself, who'd asked him to return the following day to finalize their merger.

_That was yesterday._

"Excuse me, miss? Miss?!" the hurried, business-like tone of the smartly dressed brunette in front of him brought Andrew back to the present.

"Miss? You gave me the wrong order yesterday. I accidentally drank the horrid liquid in my desperation for caffeine and it put me all out of sorts. I abhor Cafè Americano. Please make sure I receive the proper Hazelnut Latte today," the woman continued, her abrasive tone growing harsher with each passing word.

Andrew made a small irritated sound, no longer able to keep his thoughts to himself. Unfortunately, the brunette not only possessed a sharp tongue, she also had two equally sharp ears.

"I do beg your pardon, Sir, but did you have something you wished to say?"

Andrew gazed down at the bold woman with the upswept dark curls. She'd whipped around at the sound of his scoff. Her stance and tone made him feel as though she was poking an invisible finger into his chest as she made her piqued inquiry.

"Absolutely not," Andrew replied casually, running a hand through his dark wavy hair. His ever-changing hazel eyes observed her bemusedly, causing the familiar heat of annoyance at being left out of a joke to fill Hermione. She waited for him to continue before laying into this startlingly too-good looking Muggle man.

"The same happened to me yesterday, as a matter of fact," the fellow elaborated in his pleasantly masculine tones. "I happen to wholeheartedly agree with you. I, perhaps, wouldn't have been so scathing in my reprimand of the poor girl, but I do understand your caution since this time yesterday I had been forced to drink a perfectly good expresso unnecessarily diluted with some strongly flavored spices and cream. It was_abominable_."

He shuddered, almost playfully, at the memory of the overly sweet taste. Hermione narrowed her brown eyes at his movement. His intelligent gaze caught her look just in time to discover her quite insulted.

"I don't suppose _you_ enjoy Cafe Americanos?" she asked, drawing out the vowels in her inquiry.

Andrew nodded, a smile quirking his lips at her being so ruffled at his drink choice, "Guilty as charged. I'd wager _you_ enjoy your expresso heavily doused with– what was that you said? Some sort of nut spice and cream, Miss–"

"Granger, if you must," she replied offhandedly. "_Hermione_ Granger. And yes, you've sufficiently described my poison of choice. By the way, it is steamed 2-percent milk, _not_ cream."

"_Hermione_," he repeated as though testing the flavor of an exotic treat against his tongue. "Named after one of D.H. Lawrence's characters in_Women in Love_ or Queen Hermione in Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_?"

Hermione stood staring at this man, clearly she must have been too swift in her judgment of him as just another vainly handsome, wealthy git. Maybe he was just another _well-educated_, vainly handsome, wealthy git.

"Impressive, Mr.–"

"_Wright._ But do call me Andrew," he invited amiably. "Was one of my guesses correct, then, Miss Granger? Or were you perhaps named after the saint?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Hermione shrugged, "I rather like the idea of being named after Saint Hermione, though I believe my mother might have been partial to Greek mythology while awaiting my arrival."

"Well then, perhaps, your mother would know that _my_ name has some Greek heritage, too, had she been doing some study," his smile lit up his face and Hermione noticed a softening of his chiseled features. As they'd spoken, Hermione took stealthy notice of his expensive suit and how closely-tailored it was to his athletic build. He was a whole head taller than she, and Hermione was wearing her highest heels. His understated, swank accessories rivaled the cost of those worn by her arse of an ex-fiancè.

Certainly not a good idea to jump from the pot into the frying pan with this one, she thought, dismissing the rather tempting idea of pursuing this well-read, clearly monied Muggle devil who possessed the dark good looks of a grown up Cedric Diggory. She cast him a nonplussed smile at his mild flirtation, wiggled her fingers in hasty farewell, and moved further up the line, away from the temptation of him.

Andrew watched her withdrawal toward the front of the counter where her mass of dark chestnut curls was quickly lost in the crowd. He took two steps in pursuit, intent on satisfying a sudden curiosity about her left hand and whether it was adorned with a ring as bright as her mind quite obviously was.

"Order up!"

The barrista's call interrupted Andrew's movement and he changed course to gather up his drink. Preoccupied with scanning the room for this unexpected brown-haired siren, he reached out to close his hand around the cup's cardboard sleeve when the soft warmth of a feminine hand covered his. As soon as he felt her touch, a soft cry hit his ears, causing him to turn his dark eyes toward the sound and the startled gaze of the woman with the surprisingly strong grip.

_Hermione Granger_.

His smile went wide and his eyebrow arched as he took on a teasing tone, "About to abscond with my Americano again, Miss Granger? Or did you simply wish to hold my hand?"

She blushed prettily. "I thought it was mine..." Noting her fingers still over his she added quite flustered, "the drink, I mean, not your..._er_...your _hand_."

His attractive left dimple and dazzling grin froze her brain cells for a moment before she thought to reluctantly lift her hand away from his to examine whether the barrista marked the order on his cup. She made some production of looking for marks. The careful examination of nonexistent pen markings served a useful cover as she took more of him in.

The mere presence of this man, Andrew, was disconcerting, she thought to herself. He wasn't much taller than Ron, not much broader than Harry and certainly not as self-audulating as Draco. Yet his presence beside her set her all aflutter and she found herself unconsciously edging closer to the heat of him.

"Fancy a taste?" Andrew's deep sultry voice brought images of more than just coffee flitting through Hermione's mind. It had been a long time. Too long, really. She knew a good round in the bedroom would rid herself of her ridiculously randy responsiveness toward suave men of late. Certainly this fine specimen of masculinity might be just the one to wipe the memory of Malfoy from her mind, even if the obliviation would last only a short while.

Her lips twitched.

Andrew watched her curious behavior and squelched a groan when he heard the sound of a barely audible, needy whimper escape her. Captivated, his eyes were drawn to the sight of the tip of her tongue and his gaze followed it as she licked her lips in anticipation of a sip of his drink. Andrew glanced down, noticing her slim, shapely figure wrapped in a crisp white button down shirt and black pencil skirt. Her tall red heels certainly showcased her long lean legs. As he felt his body respond to the sight of her, he quickly concluded that it truly had been awhile since he'd been with a woman. And this brazen, dark-haired beauty certainly was _intriguing_.

"Hazlenut skim latte for Her.. _uh_..mee–"

_Damn and double damn._

"That's me," Hermione snapped, annoyed to be so rudely wrenched from the deliciously surreal feeling of Andrew's hungry gaze raking down her body. "For goodness sakes! I come here _everyday," _she scolded, exasperated more at having to draw away from this enticing man than hearing her name mispronounced for the umpteenth time_._ "You'd think you'd get my name right by now! Honestly!"

She lowered her eyelids as she captured her cup between her hands and inhaled the spicy scent. She glanced up and flushed at finding the look of censure on Andrew's face at her admonishment of the coffee girl.

"Sorry," Hermione sighed, realizing her discourtesy. "I'm a real witch in the morning before I've had my–"

"-coffee," he chuckled, distractedly watching Hermione savor her first sip. "Well, no need to apologize to _me,_" he said, gesturing toward the red-faced girl behind the counter.

"Oh! I do apologize–" Hermione offerred breathlessly, tilting her head to peer at the employee's nametag,"–_Ashlee_. So sorry."

"No worries, Miss. I get that sort of rude behavior all of the time," came Ashlee's unapologetic retort. Hermione grit her teeth, repressing the strong desire to retrieve her apology.

"Kind of you nevertheless," Andrew whispered in Hermione's ear. A shiver of anticipation went through her as she caught a whiff of his intoxicating cologne.

"It was nice meeting you, Andrew Wright," she said, discovering the strength to pull away and offer him a beguiling smile.

"Charmed I'm sure," he said, knocking his coffee cup against hers in a toast of sorts. He noticed a peculiar glint in her eye at his parting words. "Until tomorrow morning then, Hermione Granger."

Andrew turned to leave, making his way to the business meeting that was sure to change his life. As he strolled down the sidewalk, he wondered idly if it hadn't already altered course at this chance meeting of Hermione with the secret little twinkle in her eye.

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

_This story not intended for profit. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling with the exception of my Muggle, Mr. Wright who cannot be copied because I already have him safely tucked away at home. :)_


	2. Later That Afternoon: The Tempest

**The Tempest**  
_Later That Afternoon_

* * *

The afternoon meeting with Malfoy was drawing to a close when the door to his office was unceremoniously thrown open. The shockingly loud thwack of the hardwood against the wall had Andrew instinctually drawing back into his emerald green high-backed armchair. Curious to discover what had made the noise, he peeked out and saw a wondrous sight to his far right. A frazzled spinster had hastily followed an extremely irate, very familiar, woman who had stormed blindly into Draco's private meeting room.

"Mr. Malfoy, she wouldn't listen," the elder woman insisted in a most upset, high-pitched tone. "I tried and tried to stop her from coming through. Honestly, I did!"

"Think nothing of it, Ingrid. I'll take care of it," Malfoy sighed loudly, bringing his long, elegant fingers to his temples. Draco's timid little gray-haired secretary backed out of the room wide-eyed as Hermione launched into her tirade, unconcerned that she might have an audience beyond her intended target.

"Malfoy, I want my things back! By TONIGHT!" The air fairly sparked around her as she lashed out the words at the blond man behind the mohagony desk. Andrew noticed her earlier attempt at a casual up-do failed in its fight against gravity. The appealing length of her wavy curls now splayed around her shoulders and cascaded down her back, wayward strands flew around her heart-shaped face with every stinging jab she threw at the unconcerned man across the room.

"Granger, you cannot simply storm in here any time of day without warning," Malfoy's calm, langorous drawl irritated even Andrew. He half expected the man to lean back and prop his feet atop his desk.

"I am through with civility, you pompous arse! I most certainly can and will damn well do as I please, you... you... _cockroach_! I don't know who you think you are–"

_Interesting put down. _Malfoy's scoff and eyeroll indicated just how effective her words were.

"—I, Hermione, am the man you will _never_ be able to replace. I am keeping your things until you finally see sense, Granger. I made a simple mistake and am awaiting your realization that for _you_, there is no one else _but _me."

"Why, you insufferable, adulterous–"

"_Ahem..._" Andrew cleared his throat to remind Malfoy of his presence, worried Hermione might launch herself at the blond to claw his eyes out with her practical, tidily-manicured nails. Malfoy's new business parter watched in amusement as Hermione's eyes widened at the sight of him.

Neatly recovering his social grace, Malfoy gestured toward Andrew and began to make introductions as though Hermione had just calmly strolled in. "How perfectly rude of me, Hermione. This is–"

Andrew took sudden note of a devilish gleam in Miss Granger's eye. He sat momentarily stunned as she strutted towards him, arms outstretched in an overly familiar approach.

"Drew! Darling, why didn't you tell me you were meeting with Draco, today!"

Manners and good breeding instilled by his mum, and drilled into him by his hard-working dad, prompted Andrew to rise to his feet as the woman from the coffee shop neared. The slight sway of her hips was utterly mesmerizing. Once she'd made her way before him, Hermione stood up on tiptoe, and placed a soft palm against his jaw as though she'd touched him like this many times before. He felt compelled to move his head closer to hers. With her hair now partially hiding her profile from Malfoy, she strategically drew her mouth to Andrew's ear and whispered, "Play along."

And with that she recklessly curled her hand around the nape of his neck, drawing Andrew's mouth to hers and giving him a kiss that should have lit the ends of his hair on fire. Having been deprived of such lascivious attentions of late, it wasn't that difficult for Andrew to fall into her playact. Her surprisingly agile tongue was doing delicious things to his own and her petite curvy body slid restlessly against his, enflaming his every nerve cell.

Halloween spice, rich cream, and just a touch of expresso mixed inextricably with the delicious, delicate essence of _her._

_Now that was a taste Andrew wouldn't mind waking up to._

The indescribable feeling of being wanted by this insatiable armful of wanting femininity had Andrew's hand, which before had been chastely placed at her waist, langorously making a slow trail up Hermione's back. His fingers tangled in her riotous curls, pulling her impossibly closer. As her shapely calf brazenly twined around and then languidly rubbed against the back of his leg, Andrew discovered that his otherwise well-behaved hand was snaking back down to possessively cup her...

A low possessive growl emanating from the vicinity of the only desk in the room had Andrew reluctantly halting the heart-pounding sensual journey he'd been making in Hermione's amorous embrace. His breath came heavily and she would have been blind not to notice Andrew's heated sidelong stare. She sure felt his vice-like grip clutching the back of her blouse. Evidently, he'd been of sound enough mind to impede her escape, had she decided to flee.

There was no chance of flight, Hermione thought ruefully, since she, too, couldn't recover from their unexpected, blazing hot snog as quickly as she would have liked. As it was, one of her arms traitorously remained tightly wound around Andrew's waist. After a head toss and her fifth ragged intake of breath, Hermione at last managed to convince herself that she was only holding on to Andrew to keep her balance. Hermione chose to ignore the moist evidence of her body's carnal response to the feel of his taut, sinewy muscles beneath the palm of her hand. And now, even with both feet firmly planted on the ground, her fingers continued to stray up and down his side, beneath his Armani suit jacket. A slow sensuous smile snaked across her lips as she heard his breath catch and watched Draco's silver eyes narrow.

"You know _each other_?"

Though most of Andrew's attention was diverted to the distraction of Hermione's traveling hand, the utter incredulity in his nearly-new partner's voice sent deafening red sirens screaming through Andrew's head. But before he could reignite his brain synapses to comprehend the meaning of Malfoy's question, both men heard Hermione's brassy retort.

"Oh, in the most biblical of senses, Malfoy."

Dismayed, Draco watched his former lover audaciously slide her free palm up and down Andrew's much broader torso.

Andrew clenched his jaw as he felt what little blood he had left in his brain rush southward. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to place his left hand in his pants pocket to cover up his arousal. But while he might have been adept at immediate camouflage, Andrew couldn't suppress a groan as Hermione turned to him with her smoky gaze. He also couldn't decide if he was incredibly lucky, or extremely unfortunate in business, to have been caught in this place, at this time, with this woman and her dangerous black magic.

Hermione's sultry gaze continued to pin him to Malfoy's lush oriental carpet. It was getting more and more difficult for Andrew to remember his name as she looked at him and continued to glide her hand against him. Her sizzling stare had even _him_ believing they might have had more than their fair share of passionate nights together.

Andrew noted that she, maddeningly enough, seemed to be in full possession of her faculties.

"Obviously, Draco, I've successfully moved on," she emphasized her words with her lingering perusal of his chest. "And believe me, Malfoy, thanks to Andrew here, I've discovered just how easily replaceable _you _are." Her casually tossed comment and her greedy little hand further incited Andrew's heated reaction toward her when he knew he should be affronted by her cavalier comments.

_Bloody hell, but this woman was scary!_

Being caught in the middle of a lover's spat was indeed a deadly place to find oneself. Particularly threatening to the pocketbook if Andrew wasn't careful.

"I didn't know that you two were an item," Andrew asserted, releasing his grip on the back of Hermione's now wrinkled shirt and placing his palm more suitably around her trim waist.

He'd meant for his words as a side-step, not wishing to anger either of them. Certainly this dark-eyed spitfire, who was one hell of a kisser, might be worth the bother of going toe-to-toe with Malfoy. Andrew could hardly resist the challenge of such a conquest, particularly since all but one of the merger documents had already been signed and his own body was still at full-mast thanks to her unconscious ministrations.

"I met Miss Granger at the coffee shop around the corner from your building," Andrew honestly admitted.

"When?" Malfoy glowered, his tone menacing and accusatory. Draco's eyes shrewdly remained on Wright's face, clearly not wanting to stray anywhere else while Hermione of the wandering hands stood beside his business associate, perhaps now romantic rival.

"We met up just this morning, as a matter of fact," Hermione replied tartly, purposely implying the two had shared clandestine meetings numerous times before. She shifted her gaze to avoid looking at the handsome, enticing stranger she clutched beside her. But when she spied Draco angrily busying himself with something on his desk, she sent Andrew a quick silent plea. Sensing nothing now but benign curiosity from her partner in crime, she continued to incite the fidgeting blond.

"It's a habit we've shared for a long time," she offered boldly, "not that it's any of your bloody business, Ferret."

_OK, technically not a lie_, Andrew thought, not sure whether he should be impressed by her clever word choice. _Draco did look sort of like a ferret, funny, that_, Andrew mused.

"_Hermione,_" Malfoy glared at her as he ground out his warning.

"No! Don't you _Hermione_ me, Draco! I requested that you send my things over nearly_ five months ago_. Crookshanks misses his toys! _What on earth would you want my cat's things for?! _I've left messages with Ingrid. I've had Blaise, Pansy, and Ginny contact you. I even sent Ron, Theo and Harry over to the apartment but you've managed to keep even them from getting in! Then I resorted to sending howlers!"

Andrew watched Draco outwardly flinch, grimacing at her accusations. He digested the strange word, _howlers_, then decided to shrug it off as a _couple thing. _But then she started to say something that didn't quite make any sense, even as an intimacy between lovers.

"It's a wonder that I haven't lowered myself to harass you day and night with a flock of o-"

Andrew watched a curious flicker in Malfoy's gaze which he then darted first at Andrew and then back to Hermione. It must have been a warning of sorts because it stopped her short. She shifted slightly, shot Andrew a look of pure exasperation, then continued her diatribe, "-of... of overnight packages containing bomb threats! But it's likely that even _that_ wouldn't have made a damn difference. So here I am! You can blame yourself for this rude, untimely visit, you bombastic, self-serving git!

It was bizarre to discover Draco sending her a look of admiration when he should have been reacting with something akin to outrage at her name-calling. When Malfoy did not immediately respond to her baiting, Hermione seemed to take that as an invitation to continue.

"You won't take my money to pay for moving fees and I know you have the power to send my things over, Draco. Therefore, if I don't have my things in my flat by _this_ evening there will be hell to pay! And just so we are quite, quite clear," she threw Andrew another look. "Mr. Wright is _my_ business. Not yours!"

With an insouciant quirk of his lips, Andrew added a silent, _So there!_ to punctuate her sentence.

"I beg to differ, Hermione," Malfoy retorted, now standing and waving a sheaf of papers, ones Andrew clearly remembered signing. "As a matter of fact, _your_ Mr. Wright is just as much _my_ business as he is _yours_!"

With his sights trained on the papers in Draco's hand, Andrew decided it was high time he made himself scarce. Thoroughly disliking the feel of being relegated to the role of rope in their tug-o-war, nor enjoying the roar of Malfoy's rejoinder, Andrew again cleared his throat to interject.

"I see you two have some important things to sort out. Draco, I'll return tomorrow to complete our signing."

Before completely extricating himself from Hermione's grasp, however, Andrew moved his mouth to her ear. From Malfoy's vantage point the action could easily have been misinterpreted as a parting peck on the cheek.

"Seems you owe me one, _darling." _Andrew's sexy whisper had her senses humming expectantly. "I'm curious to discover the truth behind your name, Hermione. I hope you no longer find yourself aligned with the title of Lawrence's piece, particularly in regards to _him_," he stopped, motioning his strong chin toward the tense Malfoy who'd turned away from the sight of them. Taking advantage of this Andrew dipped his head once again.

"Come to think of it," he purred, "I rather like the bard's characterization of his Hermione. Now she was a _serious beauty_. Are you like her? I wonder... and I do believe I'll enjoy discovering whether my instincts about you are correct."

Dazed by the characterization of herself in his presumptuous words, Hermione barely registered Andrew's gentle release of her. He swiftly caught her up in his arms as she nearly stumbled over her wobbly legs. He quickly righted her and placed a friendly buss to her temple before turning to go. She watched him stride confidently toward the door, surprised she'd forgotten herself for a moment when he'd held her in the quiet strength of his saving embrace.

Andrew knew Hermione's heavy breathing would be the death of him if he didn't make his exit within the next few minutes. Never had any female, with so little as a mere meeting of lips, wound him in such an all encompassing spell. With his back to Draco and Hermione, Andrew fought an oncoming, unmanly blush— the very sort he thought he'd long done away when he joined the high flyers, like Draco, in the upper echelons of the business world.

Andrew could barely believe that only minutes ago he'd so completely forgotten his surroundings and not only french kissed, but all-out groped a virtual stranger, albeit a highly beautiful and provocative one, in front of Malfoy, who might still likely be in love with the woman.

And, yet, despite this afternoon's devastating farce that could ruin all his business plans; his sudden bashfulness at his uncharacteristic rogue-like behavior, and even with the new distance he'd placed between Hermione and himself, it took all of Andrew's strength to keep from snatching this woman up to his flat and having his wicked way with her for the remainder of the week... the month?... perhaps even longer?

_Lord, have mercy._

As he moved to turn the doorknob and escape the tension-filled air of Malfoy's office, Andrew suddenly realized that after such an improper display, he might not see this particular sorceress again once she came back to her senses. He felt the need to ensure another meeting. Hesitating a moment at the threshold, he decided that it wouldn't hurt to push his luck. Turning back to view the odd couple, he said in a tone that brooked no contest, "I'll see you tonight at eight, Hermione."

Unable to hide a pleased smile at the identical looks of unadulterated surprise, he added, "I expect you to be there, _love_, sipping your Cafè Americano. I do believe we have some things to sort out as well."

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

_My apologies in advance to Sir William Shakespeare for my blatant appropriation of the titles of his fine works._


	3. Taming of the Shrew

**Taming of the Shrew**  
_...and then there were two._

* * *

"You despise espresso without milk and something sweet," accused Malfoy tightly after the door shut behind Andrew,

"Things change," came Hermione's solemn reply. "Stop grouching, Draco. You just hate losing."

"What I hate is having lost you."

She startled at his quiet admission. It had been nearly half a year since they'd last seen each other, and even more than that since they'd had a kind word to say to one another.

"You should have thought of that _before_ you took Astoria up on her invitation to share her bed."

"Hermione, that ended almost as soon as it began. She meant _nothing_ to me."

A lip bite and a head shake rid Hermione of the heartfelt desire to forgive him yet again.

"It didn't mean anything, Hermione. Please believe me. _You_ mean _everything_ to me."

A small eruption of pain exploded in her chest. How many times had Hermione convinced herself of his trustworthiness? How much time had she wasted on helping him toward redemption? How many times had she sworn to Harry and Ron that she loved Malfoy wholeheartedly only to have to run into the comfort of their arms when he failed to live up to her expectations? How many times did Draco have to rip her heart asunder before she realized his inner turmoil was simply too great a challenge for their meager claim of love to surmount?

"The thing of it is, Draco, I do believe you," Hermione replied, the pang in her chest not quite as debilitating as before. "I just don't think you _want_ me to be your everything. I'd also wager that you don't yet realize that Astoria _does_ mean_ something_ to you," she found herself amazed that she wasn't gulping at air as she continued determinedly. "Each time you do this, it's with a pureblooded witch and _this_ time... this time you chose the apple of your mother's eye."

Hermione willed her own eyes to remain dry. "I can't weather this again, Draco. I just can't. It's unrealistic to expect fidelity and respect from you in marriage if you can't give those things to me _now_."

Hermione was truly surprised at her ability to speak to Draco about his infidelities without breaking down. She winced internally at the memory of having saved that particular embarrassment for the dressmaker to witness when she'd gone in to return her wedding gown and dress robes two months prior.

"You shattered my heart, Draco. Now you have to live with the consequences of that. Please respect that I'm doing my best to move on without you. If you do truly love me, you'd let me go. Please, just let me–"

She watched him abruptly swivel his chair around so she couldn't see his face. He'd done this before. Hiding his emotions from her was classic Draco. It was a wonder they'd ever managed to get together when they'd turned 21. One year after the end of the war Hermione and Draco at last acknowledged a mutual love for one another, one that far outweighed their half-hearted shows of hatred which had kept them in denial about their shared attraction for nearly two years.

After Harry's final meeting with the Ministry, it became public knowledge that Draco had foresaken his father's fortune to continue Snape's work with the Order through to the end of the war. He'd saved countless lives, Hermione's and Ron's included. She had effectively run out of reasons to deny their obvious attraction to one other, so, when things had at last settled into a tremulous post-war peace, Draco suggested they give their equally wobbly relationship a go.

Unfortunately, the blaze of passion that ensued from their union made Hermione blind to all else that was still wrong with Malfoy. Many of their peers continued to suffer the after effects of war. Draco never spoke of his deepest hurts with her and she knew he had no other outlet to mend his mental state. Instead of taking care of this, Draco had taken what little gold his mother had managed to squirrel away for him, invested it wisely in Muggle England and poured all of his energy into building a multi-million dollar conglomerate that served both the magical and Muggle worlds.

Still examining the bookshelves, Draco's mini-retreat from Hermione's sight signaled that her rational, earnest request might have slightly thawed Malfoy's rediscovered icy exterior. Something inside her twisted, wanting desperately to reach out to him, but Hermione knew that this time she wouldn't be the one to heal Draco's hurt.

"He's _Muggle_," Malfoy unexpectedly groused.

"As am I, Draco. It's my history, my culture." A small sad smile played on Hermione's lips. "I think my Muggleness and your Pureblooded-ness was always part of the unscalable wall between us.

"Does it have to be with _him_?" his voice gruff with emotion.

"Draco, it's not as if you really get a say in who comes after you," Hermione sighed tiredly. "It really shouldn't matter who–."

He swiveled around to stare at her. Steel grey eyes, to her surprise, somewhat watery.

"It _does_, Hermione," he admitted sorrowfully. "_It matters_."

"Well then, you should be thankful it isn't Harry," she retorted smartly, hoping her want to run back to him wasn't evident in her half-feigned belligerent stance. A wry smile touched his lips and he nodded.

_Some things never changed. _

But there were some things that _did._

After all, Hermione had. Irrevocably. She'd at last discovered she couldn't save every lost cause. She'd finally learned how heart-wrenching it was to so deeply love a boy still struggling to become a man. Malfoy's self-destruction almost wrought hers and in her self-inflicted separation from him, she'd slowly and surely come to terms with the fact it was over between her and Draco. All that was left to convince was a small part of her heart which she secretly believed would always belong to him.

""You'll have your things in the morning, love."

"I said _tonight_, Malfoy," her voice rising, prepared to do battle again.

"If I heard correctly," he offered quietly, with an unfamiliar look of defeat in his gaze, "_you_ have a _date_ tonight."

In the resulting silence, a clock ticked and Hermione could nearly count the seconds it took for an impossibly forbidden love to unravel and begin to reknit itself into an altogether different sort of relationship.

"Thank you, Draco."

"Your gratitude is misplaced, Granger. I do believe it is I who should be thanking you... for a great number of things," his voice hitched as he pulled himself from his chair. His long stride had him in front of her within seconds, claiming her hands in his. Draco's finger beneath her chin didn't send the usual thrill up her spine. Soon enough, she found herself gazing into the familiarity of his pewter eyes. "You're quite wonderful, Hermione. I do hope your Mr. Wright is less of an idiot than I am and realizes your true worth far sooner than I ever did."


	4. As You Like It

**As You Like It**  
_... "I shall desire more love and knowledge of you."_

* * *

"Hermione Granger, you came!"

She smiled at the calling out of both her first and last names. It would have been a silly way to sound her arrival had Andrew's voice not carried with it a touch of enthusiastic surprise. His show of joy at her mere presence was endearing. It had been a long time a man had expressed pure pleasure in seeing her enter a room unannounced.

At this unbidden thought, Hermione gritted her teeth against the sudden and unwanted memory of walking in on Draco and Astoria. As she scanned the room for her Mr. Wright, Hermione silently swore to herself that her disastrous romantic history would not color the delicious excitement of getting to know Andrew.

Part of the reason she'd shown up at all had been because of the intensity of the fireworks that exploded behind her eyelids when they'd kissed in Draco's office. When she'd been alone in her apartment contemplating the kiss... _well, let's be honest, it had been a mindless make out session_... that had occurred in front of her ex-fiancè, Hermione came to the conclusion that she deserved to be selfish, _just this once_. And this once, she wanted a guy exactly like Andrew who could, with just a touch, turn her overactive brain to mush.

Hermione reigned in her wandering thoughts to refocus on locating the owner of the smooth baritone. She hadn't realized the little eatery was open so late, but it was the only place she knew to go, thanks to Andrew's parting clue. It wasn't as if she had any way of contacting this dark-haired stranger. Besides, this place of first meeting seemed the obvious choice.

She discovered him waving at her from an intimate table-for-two framed by a side window. He now wore some comfortable looking low-slung jeans, a form-fitting grey t-shirt, an open button-down, and some well-used trainers. His attire tonight was a far cry from the dressed-up version of him this morning.

She found she rather liked the casual Muggleness of it. With a smile she sauntered over to the table.

"Of course I'm here. How could I forego the opportunity to thank you profusely for your... superb acting abilities?" She slid a shy glance at him while slinging her satchel across the back of the chair he'd held out for her.

"What made you think any of that was an act?" he whispered provocatively, his head close to hers as he helped push in her chair. She felt a blush climb to her cheeks, he straightened and sent her a dimpled smile, making his way back to his seat. Resettled, he held a cup out to her.

"It's decaf," he warned, "even so, I warrant it's still as you like it."

Hermione smiled, taking the offered cup and bringing it up to her nose. She breathed in, expecting the aroma of hazelnut and coffee, but instead inhaled an enticing cinnamon scent. It reminded her of pumpkin juice.

"Thank you," she said, "how thoughtful of you." She didn't have the heart to tell him he'd ordered the wrong drink since Andrew looked altogether pleased with himself for having put a smile on her face.

He suggested a dessert and got up to gather some sweets once Hermione nodded her agreement. He returned with a slice of lemon tart and chocolate cake, which they shared. The couple sat, making companionable small-talk, good-naturedly sharing the baked goods. Both were aware of the tingling awareness that sang between them. She caught his admiring gaze while he examined her fashion choice for the evening— surprisingly much like his, minus the open button down. Hermione had just brought her half-empty cup to her mouth when Andrew broached the one question she didn't want to answer.

"So, Draco, he's your–?" Andrew stopped mid-sentence, realizing that _boyfriend_ suddenly seemed a rather ridiculous thing to call one of England's most prominent tycoons.

"... _ex-fiancè_," she finished for him.

Andrew's mouth fell open.

"Oh, don't look so aghast!" she reprimanded, swatting the tines of his fork away with her own to capture the last mouthful of chocolate cake. He smiled at her rebuke. "_He's_ the one at fault! I was the one who left him after all – nearly half a year ago, I might add!"

"_Ex_-fiancè?! Are you quite certain it's over? In the office, he seemed to still carry a torch for you," Andrew moaned. His fork fell, clattering against the lemon tart plate, as he placing a hand over his eyes. "He won't let me sign that last paper, not now. _Bloody fantastic_... after all that work. Foiled by a beautiful woman!"

"Don't worry," she said, absurdly touched by his unintended compliment. Hermione leaned forward to place a reassuring hand on Andrew's forearm, drawing his handsome hand, with its neatly trimmed nails, she noticed, away from the strength of his brow. _Wait! Had she just caught a mischievous glint in his honey-coloured eyes?_ "If Draco's able to do anything well, it's compartmentalize. He's amazingly adept at it. I can assure you that his emotions will not color his business decisions. Therefore, all will be well with you and your arrangements with him."

Andrew contemplated her dubiously, catching her hand in his before she could fully pull away.

"Besides all that," she added, peering at him over her coffee cup, "I've finally convinced him that he lost his chances with me as soon as he crawled into his ex-lover's bed."

Andrew struggled to keep his composure at hearing this on dit about his_ hopefully_ still-future business partner. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it, so he went with his first thought.

"Was it just the one time?"

Her outward wince made Andrew regret his impulse to ask such a thoughtless question.

"No."

"Oh. Same girl, then?" At the uttering of _yet another_ brainless question, Andrew realized too late that his curiosity about Malfoy had gotten the better of him, making him callous to the woman he was addressing.

"No."

_Oi! Shut it, Andrew! Your mouth isn't big enough for both feet!_ he scolded himself.

"Well, it seems Malfoy's loss is my gain," he smiled warmly at her and gave her fingers a small squeeze in an attempt to gloss over the rudeness of his faux pas. She tilted her head at him, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm glad you kissed me, Hermione. Draco certainly deserved to see _that_," Andrew winked conspiratorially at her and was rewarded with her delighted burst of laughter. Andrew discovered he definitely enjoyed watching her merriment reach the sparkling depths of her expresso-coloured eyes.

"So _the_ Draco Malfoy, your former _fiancè,_ thinks we're seeing each other?" he mused, letting her hand go so he could settle back into his chair, his hands gripping his mug.

"More than that, Drew, _darling,_" Hermione answered, coyly batting her eyelashes. "Draco thinks we're sleeping together."

He grew silent and still at her words, trying to will away the sudden appearance of his very evident arousal. To distract himself, Andrew let his gaze follow her finger as it absently traced the ring of moisture left by the removal of his drink from the tabletop. Through lowered lashes she smiled lazily up at him, then added, "Not just sleeping, mind you, but having _hot, passionate... sex _with one another." She'd almost added_animalistic_ since she was so throughly enjoying his reaction to her brazen words. But before the word could tumble out, she thought better of it.

As it was, Hermione had Andrew squirming in his seat fighting against the avalanche of memories that washed over him that featured their afternoon kiss. The recalled feel of her soft curves rubbing up against the hard length of his body had him wondering at his sudden loss of self-control. Being so ordered about by his libido had him feeling like a hormonal teen again.

This woman seemed to possess the unprecedented power to give fodder to in his overactive imagination with just a few select words.

He eyed her more closely. _What was this woman about, anyway?_

Despite her attempt at sexy bravado, Andrew saw telltale signs of nerves and whatever emotion it was that caused her hand to tremble and her cheeks to pink at her suggestion of their purported intimacies. Taking him by complete surprise, she quite suddenly clapped her hands together and covered her mouth. Her eyes twinkled, thrilled with herself, evidently.

"Why does it seem as though you believe our incredibly steamy snog, which despite your assurances, will be the cause of my financial downfall, is a very _good_ thing? Please enlighten me, Miss Granger. I do find I am in need of a more positive outlook," he teased, finding himself all at once dazzled by her delight and curious about its cause.

"Oh!" she exclaimed lightly,"It's just that I've only realized that I don't care a whit about what _Draco_ thinks about you and me! And I realize that I very much care about... well, that I rather like the idea of ..." her voice trailed off and she promptly took a swig of her spicy coffee drink.

"Of–?" Andrew prompted.

"The _possibility_ of... _ah_... of something like _that_ actually happening between us... because clearly we..." her voice drifted, but her gaze did not waver from his. She absently wet her lips with her tongue and the sight of this made Andrew's mouth go dry and he feared it was also hanging open in a most unappealing way. Even so, he couldn't help but prolong her discomfiture.

"And what exactly would _that_ be, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's eyes flew open. _He wouldn't actually maker her say it again, would he?_ By this time, Andrew had managed to pull his lips together and now a slight twitching at the corner of his mouth made her want to kiss his need to tease her away. She thought of something even better.

"Why, Andrew, I thought an intelligent man much like yourself would have figured it out by now," she whispered seductively. "I was hoping that we could finish what we started in Malfoy's office because those lips and that body of yours promised me something rather... _mind-blowing_. Unless of course, you make a habit of making those sorts of promises lightly."

Andrew blinked. Hard. And very nearly growled.

_That's what you get for asking, my good man_, he chided himself.

Gorgeous. Fiery. Witty. Intelligent. Wanted by another clearly more powerful man. And then there was that undefinable _something_ about her that made Andrew sit up and take notice. Never had he been presented with such a golden opportunity.

_Ever._

In his mind, if Draco might be considered the master of deception, then Andrew was in contrast, the master of truth. He _never_ made a promise he couldn't keep. This, in fact, could be considered Mr. Wright's motto and _everyone_ who was _anyone_ knew he could be depended on to deliver on his word.

_Promises, indeed._

This woman was _unbelievable_, Andrew mused. She was the most stimulating thing to have happened to him by far in his rather unexceptionally dull life of work, work, and more work. The outrageous flirtatiousness of her and his undeniable desire to ravish this intriguing woman atop this tiny cafe table_ right this very moment_ wasn't the usual modus operandi for the otherwise brainy Mr. Wright. Andrew was not the sort of man Hermione initially pegged him for.

In truth, Andrew had only just gotten used to the new life he'd built from near scratch. He'd never been very popular with the ladies considering his meager beginnings. With the exception of today, women like Miss Granger most definitely did _not_ approach him.

It, in fact, was Andrew's secret belief that people of the upper strata could easily see beyond the guise of his well-fitted Armani suit. He also knew that he could never truly fit into the circle of modern-day aristocracy that the Malfoys of the world so easily navigated. He would always be the bloke who'd made it off the farm because of his father's untimely death. After all, it had been the windfall from his dad's life-insurance, which Andrew's mother insisted he use to help pay for college, that gave him the step up into the success his father always dreamed for him.

And it was this awful price that Andrew still could not reconcile himself with. His life in London was all due to his mother's unwavering strength and forward thinking after the nearly crippling blow of his father's unexpected death when he turned 13. And because of her, he found inside himself a scrappy determination, built on the memory of his hard-working father's hopes for his only son. This dream was what kept Andrew from falling into the abyss of self-doubt and self-blame.

As though it was yesterday, he regretfully remembered voicing aloud his desperate wish for a break, any break, so he could rise above his father's lot in life. Never did he ever imagine his success would come at so high a cost.

Through Andrew's teen years, when brawn had been more valuable than books, he'd ferociously kept at his studies. He'd stomached the taunts and worn the bruises with his eye always on the prize. His unwavering quest to make something of himself and his strong desire to "get away" had him seeking and earning a scholarship to study at Harvard University in the United States. He'd made it into England's most prestigious halls of learning but he wanted to see beyond the shores of home.

At Harvard, he befriended people whose sphere of influence encompassed mind boggling personages. It was through such cohorts that he'd learned the ways of ambitious, enterprising, and monied men. After graduation, sooner than he could list the top ten companies on the Fortune 500, Andrew found himself playing with the big boys.

In the past four years, he'd undergone something of a major transformation, long gone was the country bumpkin. And though he knew full well how fortune had smiled down upon him, Andrew remained a realist, just like his father before him. He knew he'd never be as slick as Draco, a well-groomed social animal who could make things happen with a hand flick and eyebrow raise. Andrew simply knew he _needed_ a Draco, born and raised with money, on his side. Malfoy, or someone like him, was a necessary component to Andrew's life plan because there was one truth that would never dim for him, a history that wouldn't fail to drag Andrew back if he wasn't vigilant in his struggle against it.

Through all the rung climbing and tough times far away from home, Andrew had learned he had enough business acumen to reliably be the brains behind a fairly large operation. Harvard Law taught him that and his M.B.A. helped him make it a reality.

Andrew's playact at being both wealthy and powerful had been convincing enough to capture the interest of some far wealthier shareholders willing to back his cutting-edge business enterprise. But the true reason it all came together in the end was because of Andrew's stellar mind, which developed innovative ways to back-up all of his promises to his shareholders. This unfaltering ability to keep his word is an unusual trait for any business man to claim and it was the very reason for Andrew's swift climb up the corporate ladder.

_Yes, promises._

Andrew knew all about those and he'd be damned if he ever broke any one of his. His word was his bond. It was what made him honorable and becoming an honorable man was what his father wanted most for him – what he wanted most for himself.

Now at the top of his game, only one signature short of accomplishing his life-long dream, Andrew discovered a new bounty.

He'd realized his instant attraction to Hermione Granger this morning over their cups of expresso, one black and one far too creamy. Then, to witness her in Malfoy's office with guns blazing had been a staggering surprise. Through the separated couple's interplay it had been abundantly clear to Andrew that with just a wiggle of her dainty little nose, Hermione could have had Malfoy and all his millions at her beck and call.

Yet, as unbelievable as it might seem, she'd wanted _him—_ _Andrew —_ and that knowledge was both incredibly humbling as well as an indescribable ego boost.

It was tempting to grab her and go, but considering these unfortunate circumstances, Andrew knew he needed to put the breaks on whatever this was with Hermione. And fast. It simply wouldn't do to get tangled up with her just as Malfoy was on the cusp of signing him on.

"Surely, you'd want to _date_ first, Hermione," Andrew's voice was careful, but roughened with the tantalizing idea she'd placed in his head.

"Isn't that what we're doing, Andrew?" she replied innocently. Her doe-like gaze stopped his frantic imaginings in their tracks.

Her teasing, smiling eyes peeked over her mug of cinnamon latte. When she placed the drink back on the table, he discovered how his hand had a mind of its own. He watched as it reached over to gently touch a finger to her upper lip. He felt her gasp as his fingertip slid across the contours of it, he'd watched with satisfaction as her wide eyes darkened with surprise. He was hard pressed not to respond when he recognized the desire flare in the depths of her gaze.

"You had some foam there," he rumbled sexily, wishing nothing more than to be able to lead with the initial impulse he had in Malfoy's office to drag her off to his flat. Andrew watched, enthralled at the sight of her tongue darting out to check for any foamy remnants. She smiled cheekily at him. And it was that look, one of teasing and overabundant self-confidence, that Andrew realized this one just might be a keeper.

"I'd like to kiss you again, Hermione," he said, his voice low and inviting.

"You needn't ask," she smiled, a pretty blush colouring her cheeks as she moved closer to span the short distance between them.

_Had he spoken his wish aloud?_

As his head moved closer to hers, his fingers twined in her hair. Their lips met over half-empty mugs and crumb spattered plates. The electricity of their first kiss was but a mere echo to this one that they were now sharing. Lemon. Cinnamon. Coffee. Tart. Unbelievably sweet.

"Mmmm. chocolate," she whispered, after allowing herself one lingering taste of him before pulling away. He smiled, firming his grasp around the back of her neck before she could fully make her escape.

"We'll eventually see to blowing your mind," he whispered on a smile.

"Hmmm," she smiled, moving away again to lift her cup and knock it against his. "To dating, then, and to eventually satisfying our curiosity about _that_."

Impulsively, Andrew reached out again, impatiently pulling her lips to his once more. Their eyes met in heated awareness and she felt against her mouth rather than heard him breathe wondrously, "You're bewitching, Hermione Granger."

She chuckled a little at this and replied, "You've no idea, Andrew Wright... You truly have _no_ idea."


	5. Much Ado About Nothing

**_May -_** **Much Ado About Nothing**

_"Silence is the perfectest herald of joy"_

* * *

She'd tired of his sharp and shiny furniture, and complained of his apartment's "lack of warmth." Andrew told her he purchased the townhouse furnished and insisted it simply suited his needs for sleep, work and the occasional business dinner party. The lack of a comfy chair, however, was what finally drove her to at last consent to him coming over to her place, a privilege she'd guarded like a lioness at the gate for four long months.

It was becoming a lovely habit, his coming over to her place. Even His royal highness, lord Crookshanks seemed to agree, thought Andrew, rubbing the abnormally large cat's ears. His purr was like a loud motor humming. Earlier in the week, Hermione admitted to enjoying the sight of the two of them snuggling on the couch together. Crooks was notorious for hating her previous men.

_Good cat!_

Usually a heavy sleeper, on this night, Andrew found himself waking to an unfamiliar energy in the air. The hour was far too early for his liking. Though Crookshanks greedily hogged the pillow at his head, Andrew frowned at the empty space beside him. He'd been waiting for Hermione's return by calmly stroking the demanding feline form above him. When she didn't appear, he at last decided to roll off the mattress, needing to relieve himself. Slipping into his hastily discarded trousers left him bare chested as he took a necessary trip to the adjoining bathroom. As he washed in her fragrant washroom, he decided to track her down, the plan was to distract her from her work. So, off he went in search for her.

He'd been delighted to discover the promise of her first few kisses were as true as his had been. Both had been cautious about starting a more intimate relationship, but as coffee shop chats made way for dinner and strolls in the park. It was inevitable that the two would at last give in to the passion that had initially sparked between them. He'd been pleasantly shocked to find Hermione a wanton in bed, surpassing all his other experiences. The mere thought of their most recent romp brought him prompt arousal and Andrew soon discovered he wanted Hermione back under the covers — _now_. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Andrew wandered into the hall of her two-bedroom apartment.

"Hermione?" He whispered into the darkness of the corridor. At the far end, there was a sliver of faint light under the closed door and the muffled sound of her... singing?... no... _chanting?..._ in a strange language. He would have guessed it to be Latin had he not dabbled in the study of it at university. But the sound of it wasn't quite as it should have been, too melodic, yet_ not...not really_.

Curious, he went to the slightly ajar door and pushed it open another crack. Her back was to him, her hair wildly thrown around her shoulders. She held in the air what looked like a wooden conductor's baton. Her humming and baton waving had him remembering the bibbity-bobbity-boo scene from his niece's favorite princess movie.

"Just a wave of her stick to finish her trick," he recalled the fairy godmother telling the bedraggled princess-to-be. The memory of the silly song and the sight of Hermione in a stance so similar to that of the rotund fairy had him smiling. But then, to his utter astonishment, he witnessed a bright sparkling light, more fleet than that of an American Independence Day sparkler, shoot from Hermione's wooden stick to gather up an orb-like object from her desk and whisk it around her, to land gently on a shelf above her desk.

It would have been a fantastic special effect, had this been a made for the movies scene, but it wasn't and Andrew gasped incredulously, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes.

At his sound, Hermione whipped around to discover Andrew in the doorway, looking like a charming little boy with mussed hair at Christmas, waking to discover Santa at the hearth. She immediately thought to Obliviate, but instead, decided on the less invasive Confundo charm as she swished her wand at Andrew.

As the cloud of confusion misted his gaze, Hermione grimly pressed her lips together. She'd known better than to work from home while a Muggle was in her house, but the case had been puzzling her and she couldn't sleep, despite the haze of post-orgasmic languor. She'd talked herself into using magic in the dead of night because she knew that Andrew had been in the throes of a deep sleep when she'd slipped from his embrace.

She looked at the lingering questions in his gaze. Obviously, she had been too careless with her magic tonight.

_It's time,_ she thought as she heard Andrew's perplexed voice say, "Hermione? Why am I out of bed? Was I dreaming? Am I dreaming?"

"I think so, Andrew," she replied soothingly, moving to take him by the hand back to her room. "Was it a good dream?"

"I don't know," he continued, bewildered. "You were holding a baton and singing. Conductors don't sing, you know that, right?"

"Yes, Andrew, I know. It sounds like an amusing dream," she observed, easing him back to her room, kicking herself for not locking her home office door.

"It made me smile to watch you," he admitted smiling into her hair as she helped him ease him back into bed.

"Is that right?" she asked, secretly delighted by the news. "Would it please you to discover me holding a stick in my hands and singing?"

She watched the fog clear from his eyes at her words. He teasingly pulled her into bed with him, his voice suddenly sultry, "it would only please me most if the stick belonged to me and I was the one making you sing."

Even as her appreciative chuckle praised his seductive wit, she wondered still if he would be able to the stand the test of her truth once she revealed her magical essence.

* * *

_A day later..._

* * *

Hermione lay her head on Andrew's broad shoulder. They rested on a checked lawn blanket having finished a picnic in the private green courtyard shared by members of Hermione's gated community. They were half-hidden under the branches of an old weeping willow. She smiled happily at the quiet beauty of the spring afternoon.

Hermione never believed in the shared blissful happiness between two people as described in her favored romance novels. Her previously failed relationships had her relegating such feeling to pure fantasy, but her five-month-long courtship with Andrew had proven her wrong on nearly all counts.

She'd never felt this contented with anyone else before. Despite her vast imagination, she could never have envisioned how easy love could be with the right person. Even when she had dated Ron, her very best friend, it had always been a struggle to remain true to herself. The only problem was that she couldn't fully welcome Andrew into her home.

As they neared nearly six months together, the effort to hide her magical self from him was becoming a huge burden. And today she meant to do something about it. She'd put off the admission of being a witch because she didn't ever want him to have a reason to leave. He was so much more than she could have ever hoped for.

It was more than that blazing kiss, and every single one after, that had Hermione determined to keep him. With Andrew, she discovered quickly that she could simply _be_. She could talk about anything and everything. And for her, this was certainly saying _something_.With him, who graduated top of his class from his fancy American Ivy League university, Hermione got the witty repartee she'd missed from her break-up with Draco without the nasty side effects.

Admittedly, after they'd gotten over the first few chaste dates, it had been about satisfying a very insistent itch in every way humanly possible. And my, he was quite brilliant in the sack! She'd desperately wished she could also show him what it was like to make love to a bonafide witch, but she instinctively knew such things were better saved for later. Despite his brilliance at making love, she'd soon discovered that it was the way he was outside of the bedroom that kept her coming back for more.

Andrew was funny and witty and... well... nice and... _sweet_.

And if there was anything that kept Hermione indescribably happy, it was the sweetness of him.

Of course, nice and sweet might be a bit boring for a lot of women, but having dallied with the wizarding world's most infamous bad boy, Hermione was done with the heartache and risks that sort of infatuation entailed. She was through with putting the needs of others, particularly those of selfish men, before her own. She felt she deserved, perhaps even earned, some sweetness and nice in her life... it was even more soul satisfying to discover her just rewards in this fabulously virile package named, Andrew.

"Can I ask you something?" she whispered into the air.

"Sure, go ahead," he invited, nuzzling her ear.

"Why don't you ever ask about my schooling and that sort of thing?"

"I'm afraid to, I suppose. You are far more intellectual than any other woman I've known. I would hate to discover that my intelligence fails to meet your high standards." In fact, Andrew had never met anyone _quite_ like her.

"But, you graduated with honors from Harvard Law!"

"Yes, and on scholarship, mind you. Mom barely had a dime to her name. And, after all that, I didn't become an attorney... I decided to go into business, for myself."

"And you finished with honors from Harvard Business School. So you've said," she pressed her nose against his neck, inhaling the unique masculine scent of him that was just _right_. He smiled at her touch. "What is it about you and your need to be a closet plebian, Andrew? You must admit that the shoes and watch you wore on the first day we met were incongruous to your reality. Discovering you knew and were working with Draco... Well, I half expected you to be a wi-w-wealthy git like him, too."

Andrew, too bothered by the first impression he'd inadvertently given her that day in the cafe, didn't notice her stutter and quick-witted save.

"Expensive indulgences," he insisted again. "I needed to look the part to convince your ex I was worthy of his time. All of my wealth is in W., Hermione, most of which is shared with Draco now. I'm a virtual pauper. This is all well and good, I don't like associating with the uber-wealthy, it's a throwback to my youth, I suppose. Draco can function socially in those waters. It is good for me to learn to do these things from someone so skilled, though. My parents aren't blue-bloods, Hermione. I barely knew my father before he passed. He worked hard to support Mom and me, but he died before I could... ," Andrew grew silent, fighting an emotion Hermione hoped he'd one day trust her with witnessing. "I hope my more meager background doesn't bother you."

He smiled at how quickly she shook her head no, a knowing twinkle glittered in her eye and he wanted desperately to be let in on her secret. "Enough about me," he insisted, "What did you want me to ask about, again? Your schooling and your family, was it?"

"I can't believe we haven't spoken about them this whole time. What on earth do we entertain ourselves with when we've seen each other these past five months?"

"We talk about literature, mostly, and the arts. You often stop yourself mid-sentence when you talk about the friends I am to meet tonight as if they've got some sort of disease I might catch." He sends her a quizzing look which she pointedly ignores, drawing her hand across him to languorously outline the the valleys and planes of his well-formed torso.

"...And you ask about my work," he continues distractedly, "I come by your flat to fix your wretched digital network. We kiss _a lot_," he paused a moment in his litany.

She smiled, pressing her face against his, drawing his mouth to hers to snog him within an inch of his life. He turned away abruptly. "You're a really good kisser, by the way. Diverting... which is possibly why I know so little about you... like, how you do seem pleased with your work. Though, I still don't know where _that_ is. You like cats... Big, mean, hairy cats, who I'm glad like me as well. _Hmmm_..."

Hermione noticed how Andrew turned suddenly quiet, seeming to realize all at once how little he knew of her history and work life despite having dated her for nearly half a year.

"Both of my parents are... _ah_... _were_ dentists," she began timidly. "They relocated to Australia when I was 17 and decided to stay."

"So, dentists? Well, as their one and only, you must have been able to attend any school in the world that accepted you."

"Well, there are no Wizarding universities, so I chose to attend Cambridge." She felt him stiffen beside her. The lazy circles he was tracing against her side ceased for a moment as he played with the unusual word in his head.

"Pardon?"

"I went to Cambridge," she replied, purposely obtuse, stealthily casting a wandless _Muffliato._

"No, the first bit. What did you say, 'whizzardly'?" He'd propped himself up on an elbow now, gazing into her face.

"No, I said, '_Wizarding_,' Andrew."

"Wizarding? Like magic and Merlin?" He lay back down again, shaking his head beside hers, their thick dark hair tangling together. "Abracadabra?"

"Yes, exactly,"Hermione said propping herself up to look down at him, laying a hand on his steadily beating heart. "Promise not to laugh. I'm going to tell you something quite serious."

"I'll try not to, but I'm not making any promises." He slung an arm over his face. His ears remained alert, but Andrew didn't want to see the graveness in her gaze. This seemed _serious_.

"I'm a witch."

She held her breath as she watched him take in the information with a scholarly inquisitiveness.

"What do you mean you're a _witch_?"

And then Hermione heaved a sigh before launching into telling the story she promised herself she would reveal just as soon as she realized exactly how much she wanted Andrew to remain a part of her life.

"When I was ten, an owl tapped on my parents' window. It carried a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... Shopping for school items was amazing in Daigon Alley... And then on the Hogwarts Express, that's the magical train that took us to school, I met my best mates, Ron and Harry...Harry is well, he's famous really...there was a troll my first year...then the vile Voldemort...Seven years... Malfoy was a prat through most of it— still is, really."

And on and on she went, measuring his responses by how his breath hitched or blew out, and how he continued or halted the lazy caresses he bestowed on her. As she spoke, his hand skimmed very close but never touched the wand holster she'd placed on her thigh that morning. All in all, he seemed relatively unfazed by her unbelievable admission.

_Or perhaps he was simply shocked._

"Do you want me to cast a charm? I can prove to you that I'm not simply telling tales," she asked, her hand moving to her leg. He caught her fingers up in his as though trying to make sure she was real.

"I thought that would get you into trouble? Performing magic in front of a Muggle like me?" His brow furrowed as the curious word formed on his lips.

She smiled, pleased by his response. Andrew _listened_ to her. He was quick and she adored that about him.

"It's OK, Andrew. There have been cross-over relationships before."

"There's no need to show me, Hermione. I believe you." His dark eyes gazed trustingly into hers and he cast her a lingering smile.

"Tell me that's not your equivalent of '_My girlfriend believes in fairies. She's completely nutters. But she's hot, so, I just keep her around for kicks,_' is it?" she asked worriedly.

"You're not _that_ hot," he joked, nudging her with his shoulder, but placing a loving kiss on the top of her curl tousled head to take the heat out of his teasing.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, swatting at his broad chest.

"I love you more for your mind," he replied cheekily. "But you actually do happen to be pretty hot and the overall package..." he waggled his eyebrows in appreciation, making her smile despite herself, "well, I've often thought that you are too good to be true. I think I'd be more worried if you _hadn't_ told me there was something special about you."

"So would you like me to perform a charm just for proof?" She itched to pull out her wand to show off a bit of magic. It had been a long time since she'd practiced charms outside of her work with the magical law offices of McDougal & Brocklehurst.

"Let me absorb the news of your witchy-ness before you show me any hocus pocus, OK?" he requested. "Your history just seems like a really long fantasty fiction story for kids."

Hermione nodded with understanding, and threw her arms around him, silently thanking him for his unconditional acceptance of her. She looked up into the tree as she fell back into his embrace.

"Admittedly, you being a witch does explain some things," he added contemplatively.

"Explains _what_ exactly?"

"From the moment we met, strange things happen when I'm with you," his gaze moved to her mouth. "It's as though all the puzzle pieces fall into place and I don't worry about things not turning out as they should."

"Oh, I've got nothing to do with that, Drew," she smiled up at him. "I think, what you're referring to is fate."

"What does fate say about me getting you into my bed tonight?" he whispered seductively.

"Hmmm. Well, Andrew, I can't say that Divination was my best subject. But, I'd wager that your chances are pretty good..."

"Oh, yeah?" He smiled and dipped his head to hers and captured her in a kiss that left her breathless. "Maybe I can tempt fate and increase my odds," his voice deepened with desire. His secret, sexy smile warmed her to the core. His mouth reached for hers again. Hermione responded hungrily, catching him off-guard. Her hands moved possessively over him and Andrew's body jolted awake with a sudden need to take her.

She felt his hands moving to take on the challenge of the pearly buttons of her short-sleeve poplin blouse. He began to wrestle with her top button, accidentally popping it off when a ball unexpectedly landed at their feet. Still entwined, Hermione realized the happy laughter of children at play moving toward their secluded cover of tree branches.

She grabbed onto Andrew, planted her lips on his, and without a second thought to the loss of their picnic essentials, she disapparated them both. The resulting thunderclap had the little boy, who'd just ducked under the bower into their secret hideaway to recover his plaything, dashing for cover.

When Andrew's head stopped spinning and his stomach at last settled, he realized he had fallen on something quite soft. He looked down to see Hermione's wayward curls spread out beneath her head. He stared at her, mouth agape, completely astounded. They were on a bed.

_His bed._

_Well, hot damn!_

"Hermione, you _really_ are a witch!" he choked.

"... That might be so, Andrew, but..." she bucked her hips up against his hardened length and a saucy smile twitched at her lips, "it would seem that you're the one with the wand."

She sent him an eyebrow wiggle and an brazen look of desire. At the sight of her willingly writhing beneath him, Andrew thanked his lucky stars for the magical woman in his arms.


	6. To Paris With Love

A late fall rendition of Shakespeare's _Romeo & Juliet_ just let out and Andrew was in the midst of receiving a parting hug from a stunning red-headed woman..._err.. witch_ who had kept their group cozy with a warming charm in the open air theatre.

Witches and wizards, Andrew soon discovered, were quite handy to have as friends. Though Andrew didn't believe he wanted magical power himself, he did enjoy the benefit of their unique abilities. And when he found himself completely gobsmacked by anything they did or discussed, Andrew coped by pretending Hermione and her mates hailed from some lovely foreign country. This was especially helpful when one of them did anything that was particularly..._ charming._

Ginny Weasely waved goodbye as she snuggled up to Harry Potter. Harry had spoken very little the entire evening. His demeanor continued to be one of quiet wariness even months after their first introduction and numerous double and triple dates. Harry's tall red-headed friend, Ron Weasley, however, was an entirely different matter.

Andrew wanted to growl at Hermione's first real boyfriend, who'd just slapped him on the back, telling Andrew to take care of _his_ girl. Andrew barely managed to stop the menacing sound rumbling in his chest, but couldn't keep from putting a fair amount of force behind the hard smack on the back he'd returned to Hermione's first beau as they bid each other farewell.

Ron's latest fling, a nameless Holyhead Harpy, from that wizard sport, _Qui-something_, seemed to have sensed the growing tension between the men and dragged Ron off to follow Harry and Ginny with little more than a waggle of her fingers as a goodbye.

At their parting of ways on the street just outside the New Globe Theater, Hermione shot Andrew a look.

"Why did you hit Ron so hard?"

Andrew shrugged.

"He didn't mean anything by it, not really. It's just that, I think they're tired of picking up the pieces after my heartbreaks. Harry especially, that's why he won't allow himself to get to really know you until you've passed _the test._"

"The test?"

"The _No Tears for a Year_ test."

"Malfoy was _that_ bad?"

"Worse, if you can imagine that."

"Well, it's nearly been a year. A couple more months to go"

And it had been. Andrew and Hermione were planning on spending the December holidays with his mum and commuting to see her friends after the 25th to exchange gifts. To Hermione's delight, her parents would be visiting in the New Year. Andrew had already met Hermione's father when he visited London over the summer and they'd hit it off well, much better than Malfoy fared.

It was easier, obviously, since Andrew was what Hermione's dad called, "gallant _and_ real," a lad worthy of his only daughter. Even Malfoy reluctantly agreed that Andrew and Hermione's Muggle match seemed far more magical than the disfunctional romance he and the witch once shared — that is, only after Andrew flatly refused to sign an affidavit that would disallow him from dating Hermione. And somehow managed, instead, to talk Malfoy down enough to allow the final signature to be drawn on the merger papers. The two had worked side-by-side ever since.

"Take care of her, Wright," the blond had said quietly the evening before, when Andrew had told him of his upcoming plans with Hermione. "I never quite managed to. You seem a good match for her even though it's only been—" Malfoy stopped short, uncertain how to finish. He took his time straightening his papers before approaching Andrew who was still seated at the other end of the conference table.

"It will be a year in December, Draco," Andrew had supplied. Malfoy appeared confused for a moment, then somewhat relieved at the time frame Andrew had just given him. "I'd only met her _that_ day— the day we began signing for the merger. You remember."

"And that _kiss_?"

"Was payback."

Malfoy muttered a scornful, _"bloody witch..._" then sent Andrew a look that was a curious combination of disdainful approval. "So, Wright, under that good-natured, boy-next-door demeanor, you are a shark after all."

"I am that, if being a shark means going after exactly what you want," replied Andrew.

"Regardless, you seem an honorable bloke. The sort she deserves," Draco allowed. "And despite our close working conditions, I am quite satisfied that Hermione decided to choose you above all else.

"Hermione hasn't been asked to choose yet," Andrew said, tilting his gaze up to stare at Draco. "But for the record, should she truly choose me above all else, I certainly plan on taking very good care of her."

"Good to hear it mate," Malfoy said softly, clapping Andrew's shoulder. "Oh, and by the way, if I hear otherwise, you should be warned that I'll hex you to kingdom come far sooner than Scarhead and the Weasel even begin thinking about doing the same..._ Just for the record._"

Andrew had balked at the crystal clear warning he'd thought only possible from overprotective fathers. Malfoy smiled dangerously and then shifted gears so fast that Andrew had to blink.

"Now, Wright, since you've at last been made privy to the secrets of the Wizarding world–_ thank you Hermione_ –Let's talk about replacing those damnable owls with some modern technology." And with that, the inquiry into Andrew's love life was no longer deemed Draco's domain.

An interesting tragic hero this Draco Malfoy, Andrew thought as he now gazed down at Hermione still holding his hand. She was peering up at him, eager to hear him say he understood her friends' overbearing behavior. He caught her lips in a quick chaste kiss to relieve her anxiety.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if the heroine chose differently?" Hermione asked suddenly as he slung his arm around her shoulders, holding her close as they made their way to the Tube.

"You mean, how would Shakespeare's story have changed if Juliet jettisoned Romeo and had chosen Paris instead?" Andrew asked for clarification.

"Yes, exactly! Paris, if you think about it, was really Juliet's perfect partner."

"I imagine that had Juliet chosen Paris," Andrew began, "Well, first, she wouldn't have died in some idiot 16-year-old boy's arms. She would have, instead, led a very fulfilling life. She would have grown old with her loving and devoted husband and had a mess of kids, an adoring family and an age old rivalry with the Montagues to tend to."

"But what sort of romantic love story would that be, Andrew?" she pressed, her sable eyes smiling up at him.

"You asked the question, Hermione," he smiled, hugging her closer. "There are no great audiences that pay to watch the ordinary, every day kind of love. All the great sagas tell us that romantic love must be tragic, ending in death and all that. Some think true love can only be proven when it wins against all odds.

"But what if there is no battle to be fought?" he continued. "Isn't there beauty in a quiet sort of love that grows with time and commitment? What of a love that is discovered and matures as the couple does? The sort that believes in forever and works toward making it reality... even without the aid of magic?"

"That sort of love does sound quite heavenly," she sighed, dropping her head to his shoulder while they stopped at the corner to wait for a light. A cloud of steam formed at her mouth. He pulled her coat collar more snugly around the cream colored scarf wrapped around her neck.

"I've something for you."

Her lips quirked at the unfamiliar tone in his voice. So serious.

_What was this?_

She watched his hand reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a small box tied with a white satin ribbon.

_Tiffany blue._

Hermione noticed his hand slightly tremble as he tugged her hand back into his, placing the gift in her palm.

"Open it, Hermione."

She savored the unwrapping of it, relishing this moment and purposely teasing him. The tension in him visible at the pulse point in his neck and the short breaths he took as he watched her fingers fumble with the bow. Hermione lifted the cover of the small velvet box and glanced at what lay inside. She swiftly caught his worried gaze and let out a sigh.

"Oh, Andrew it's..." She managed to compose herself just quickly enough to wave her hand and send out a charm that kept him from falling to one knee on the cold cement sidewalk.

The look of confusion and wonder on his face at having his half-bent knees cushioned by an invisible pillow of air had her laughing lightly. He smiled. "I don't know that I'll ever get used to your many charms, Hermione."

She smiled at the double meaning, still staring at the twinkling diamond ring in the box. With arms outstretched, he toyed with the cushion of air, bouncing lightly up and down in wonderment of the magic.

"Well, even though you've stopped me from striking the proper position, I'd still like to propose in the customary way."

Still resting his knees on the invisible pillow of air, he took her hand in his. She blinked back happy tears as he said, "I'm no legendary savior of the world, no famous magical athlete, nor some rich, pureblooded bastard. I am, however a man who loves you with all my common Muggle heart. And even without the magical power of a wizard I will do everything to make you deliriously happy for all the days of your life.

He watched a glittering tear fall, sliding down her cheek. He reached out to cup her face in his palm. With his thumb he carefully wiped it away.

"That tear doesn't count against Harry's test," Andrew whispered as she let out a watery giggle, placing her hand atop his that was still cupping her cheek.

"I'd like us to try for an enduring love, Hermione. If you agree to marry me, I suspect you and I will discover that the love we share is defined in the living of it and not in the telling. After all, what we've got isn't for an audience. I imagine it will be quite heavenly since everything in me tells me that you and I belong together. And when you get right down to it, I have a feeling that I will deeply adore being the Paris to your Juliet."

She tipped her head at him with a lovesick smile on her face.

"But, Andrew what if this Juliet doesn't like to call out sappy poetry into the moonlight but would much rather cackle, 'Bubble bubble toil and trouble' into an iron cauldron?"

With his face breaking out into a grin he replied, "I suppose I'd be handing you the eye of newt when you asked for it, love."

"I do believe Mr. Wright, that you truly are _my_ Mr. Right. My answer is, 'Yes!' A thousand times, yes!"

Hermione stretched out her arms to him and he gathered her up and swung her around. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that rivaled all the others she'd ever experienced... and beat them by a mile.

An indescribable joy took flight within her and Hermione was lost in the wonderment of how she felt in his arms— inebriated in a way she imagined one might feel after drinking a lethal combination of Elixir of Euphoria, Amortensia, and Felix Felicis.

This unique and enchanting draught of delight flooded her senses and she recognized it at once as the age-old magic of love that even the greatest wizards still could not simulate. Hermione gazed again into the adoring eyes of her sweet Muggle man, Andrew, who help her discover the charm of this elusive magic at last.

* * *

_~finite incantantum~_


End file.
